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Phaedo
Plato
(Translator: Benjamin Jowett)
Published: -400
Categorie(s): Non-Fiction, Philosophy
Source: http://www.gutenberg.org
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About Plato:
Plato (Greek: Plátōn, "wide, broad-shouldered") (428/427 BC – 348/
347 BC) was an ancient Greek philosopher, the second of the great trio of
ancient Greeks –Socrates, Plato, originally named Aristocles, and Aris-
totle– who between them laid the philosophical foundations of Western
culture. Plato was also a mathematician, writer of philosophical dia-
logues, and founder of the Academy in Athens, the first institution of
higher learning in the western world. Plato is widely believed to have
been a student of Socrates and to have been deeply influenced by his
teacher's unjust death. Plato's brilliance as a writer and thinker can be
witnessed by reading his Socratic dialogues. Some of the dialogues, let-
ters, and other works that are ascribed to him are considered spurious.
Plato is thought to have lectured at the Academy, although the pedago-
gical function of his dialogues, if any, is not known with certainty. They
have historically been used to teach philosophy, logic, rhetoric, mathem-
atics, and other subjects about which he wrote. Source: Wikipedia
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• Ion (-400)
• Meno (-400)
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Persons of the dialogue:
Phaedo, who is the narrator of the dialogue to Echecrates of Phlius
Socrates
Apollodorus
Simmias
Cebes
Crito
Attendant of the prison
Scene: The Prison of Socrates
Place of the narration: Phlius
Echecrates. Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison with Socrates on
the day when he drank the poison?
Phaedo. Yes, Echecrates, I was.
Ech. I wish that you would tell me about his death. What did he say in
his last hours? We were informed that he died by taking poison, but no
one knew anything more; for no Phliasian ever goes to Athens now, and
a long time has elapsed since any Athenian found his way to Phlius, and
therefore we had no clear account.
Phaed. Did you not hear of the proceedings at the trial?
Ech. Yes; someone told us about the trial, and we could not under-
stand why, having been condemned, he was put to death, as appeared,
not at the time, but long afterwards. What was the reason of this?
Phaed. An accident, Echecrates. The reason was that the stern of the
ship which the Athenians send to Delos happened to have been crowned
on the day before he was tried.
Ech. What is this ship?
Phaed. This is the ship in which, as the Athenians say, Theseus went to
Crete when he took with him the fourteen youths, and was the saviour
of them and of himself. And they were said to have vowed to Apollo at
the time, that if they were saved they would make an annual pilgrimage
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to Delos. Now this custom still continues, and the whole period of the
voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the priest of Apollo crowns
the stern of the ship, is a holy season, during which the city is not al-
lowed to be polluted by public executions; and often, when the vessel is
detained by adverse winds, there may be a very considerable delay. As I
was saying, the ship was crowned on the day before the trial, and this
was the reason why Socrates lay in prison and was not put to death until
long after he was condemned.
Ech. What was the manner of his death, Phaedo? What was said or
done? And which of his friends had he with him? Or were they not al-
lowed by the authorities to be present? And did he die alone?
Phaed. No; there were several of his friends with him.
Ech. If you have nothing to do, I wish that you would tell me what
passed, as exactly as you can.
Phaed. I have nothing to do, and will try to gratify your wish. For to
me, too, there is no greater pleasure than to have Socrates brought to my
recollection, whether I speak myself or hear another speak of him.
Ech. You will have listeners who are of the same mind with you, and I
hope that you will be as exact as you can.
Phaed. I remember the strange feeling which came over me at being
with him. For I could hardly believe that I was present at the death of a
friend, and therefore I did not pity him, Echecrates; his mien and his lan-
guage were so noble and fearless in the hour of death that to me he ap-
peared blessed. I thought that in going to the other world he could not be
without a divine call, and that he would be happy, if any man ever was,
when he arrived there, and therefore I did not pity him as might seem
natural at such a time. But neither could I feel the pleasure which I usu-
ally felt in philosophical discourse (for philosophy was the theme of
which we spoke). I was pleased, and I was also pained, because I knew
that he was soon to die, and this strange mixture of feeling was shared
by us all; we were laughing and weeping by turns, especially the
excitable Apollodorus-you know the sort of man?
Ech. Yes.
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Phaed. He was quite overcome; and I myself and all of us were greatly
moved.
Ech. Who were present?
Phaed. Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus, Critobu-
lus and his father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines, and
Antisthenes; likewise Ctesippus of the deme of Paeania, Menexenus, and
some others; but Plato, if I am not mistaken, was ill.
Ech. Were there any strangers?
Phaed. Yes, there were; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes, and Phae-
dondes; Euclid and Terpison, who came from Megara.
Ech. And was Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?
Phaed. No, they were said to be in Aegina.
Ech. Anyone else?
Phaed. I think that these were about all.
Ech. And what was the discourse of which you spoke?
Phaed. I will begin at the beginning, and endeavor to repeat the entire
conversation. You must understand that we had been previously in the
habit of assembling early in the morning at the court in which the trial
was held, and which is not far from the prison. There we remained talk-
ing with one another until the opening of the prison doors (for they were
not opened very early), and then went in and generally passed the day
with Socrates. On the last morning the meeting was earlier than usual;
this was owing to our having heard on the previous evening that the sac-
red ship had arrived from Delos, and therefore we agreed to meet very
early at the accustomed place. On our going to the prison, the jailer who
answered the door, instead of admitting us, came out and bade us wait
and he would call us. "For the Eleven," he said, "are now with Socrates;
they are taking off his chains, and giving orders that he is to die to-day."
He soon returned and said that we might come in. On entering we found
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Socrates just released from chains, and Xanthippe, whom you know, sit-
ting by him, and holding his child in her arms. When she saw us she
uttered a cry and said, as women will: "O Socrates, this is the last time
that either you will converse with your friends, or they with you." So-
crates turned to Crito and said: "Crito, let someone take her home." Some
of Crito's people accordingly led her away, crying out and beating her-
self. And when she was gone, Socrates, sitting up on the couch, began to
bend and rub his leg, saying, as he rubbed: "How singular is the thing
called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be
thought to be the opposite of it; for they never come to a man together,
and yet he who pursues either of them is generally compelled to take the
other. They are two, and yet they grow together out of one head or stem;
and I cannot help thinking that if Aesop had noticed them, he would
have made a fable about God trying to reconcile their strife, and when he
could not, he fastened their heads together; and this is the reason why
when one comes the other follows, as I find in my own case pleasure
comes following after the pain in my leg, which was caused by the
chain."
Upon this Cebes said: I am very glad indeed, Socrates, that you men-
tioned the name of Aesop. For that reminds me of a question which has
been asked by others, and was asked of me only the day before yester-
day by Evenus the poet, and as he will be sure to ask again, you may as
well tell me what I should say to him, if you would like him to have an
answer. He wanted to know why you who never before wrote a line of
poetry, now that you are in prison are putting Aesop into verse, and also
composing that hymn in honor of Apollo.
Tell him, Cebes, he replied, that I had no idea of rivalling him or his
poems; which is the truth, for I knew that I could not do that. But I
wanted to see whether I could purge away a scruple which I felt about
certain dreams. In the course of my life I have often had intimations in
dreams "that I should make music." The same dream came to me some-
times in one form, and sometimes in another, but always saying the
same or nearly the same words: Make and cultivate music, said the
dream. And hitherto I had imagined that this was only intended to ex-
hort and encourage me in the study of philosophy, which has always
been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and best of music. The
dream was bidding me to do what I was already doing, in the same way
that the competitor in a race is bidden by the spectators to run when he
is already running. But I was not certain of this, as the dream might have
meant music in the popular sense of the word, and being under sentence
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of death, and the festival giving me a respite, I thought that I should be
safer if I satisfied the scruple, and, in obedience to the dream, composed
a few verses before I departed. And first I made a hymn in honor of the
god of the festival, and then considering that a poet, if he is really to be a
poet or maker, should not only put words together but make stories, and
as I have no invention, I took some fables of esop, which I had ready at
hand and knew, and turned them into verse. Tell Evenus this, and bid
him be of good cheer; that I would have him come after me if he be a
wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am likely to be going, for the
Athenians say that I must.
Simmias said: What a message for such a man! having been a frequent
companion of his, I should say that, as far as I know him, he will never
take your advice unless he is obliged.
Why, said Socrates,-is not Evenus a philosopher?
I think that he is, said Simmias.
Then he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy, will be willing
to die, though he will not take his own life, for that is held not to be right.
Here he changed his position, and put his legs off the couch on to the
ground, and during the rest of the conversation he remained sitting.
Why do you say, inquired Cebes, that a man ought not to take his own
life, but that the philosopher will be ready to follow the dying?
Socrates replied: And have you, Cebes and Simmias, who are acquain-
ted with Philolaus, never heard him speak of this?
I never understood him, Socrates.
My words, too, are only an echo; but I am very willing to say what I
have heard: and indeed, as I am going to another place, I ought to be
thinking and talking of the nature of the pilgrimage which I am about to
make. What can I do better in the interval between this and the setting of
the sun?
Then tell me, Socrates, why is suicide held not to be right? as I have
certainly heard Philolaus affirm when he was staying with us at Thebes:
and there are others who say the same, although none of them has ever
made me understand him.
But do your best, replied Socrates, and the day may come when you
will understand. I suppose that you wonder why, as most things which
are evil may be accidentally good, this is to be the only exception (for
may not death, too, be better than life in some cases?), and why, when a
man is better dead, he is not permitted to be his own benefactor, but
must wait for the hand of another.
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By Jupiter! yes, indeed, said Cebes, laughing, and speaking in his nat-
ive Doric.
I admit the appearance of inconsistency, replied Socrates, but there
may not be any real inconsistency after all in this. There is a doctrine
uttered in secret that man is a prisoner who has no right to open the door
of his prison and run away; this is a great mystery which I do not quite
understand. Yet I, too, believe that the gods are our guardians, and that
we are a possession of theirs. Do you not agree?
Yes, I agree to that, said Cebes.
And if one of your own possessions, an ox or an ass, for example took
the liberty of putting himself out of the way when you had given no in-
timation of your wish that he should die, would you not be angry with
him, and would you not punish him if you could?
Certainly, replied Cebes.
Then there may be reason in saying that a man should wait, and not
take his own life until God summons him, as he is now summoning me.
Yes, Socrates, said Cebes, there is surely reason in that. And yet how
can you reconcile this seemingly true belief that God is our guardian and
we his possessions, with that willingness to die which we were attribut-
ing to the philosopher? That the wisest of men should be willing to leave
this service in which they are ruled by the gods who are the best of rulers
is not reasonable, for surely no wise man thinks that when set at liberty
he can take better care of himself than the gods take of him. A fool may
perhaps think this-he may argue that he had better run away from his
master, not considering that his duty is to remain to the end, and not to
run away from the good, and that there is no sense in his running away.
But the wise man will want to be ever with him who is better than him-
self. Now this, Socrates, is the reverse of what was just now said; for
upon this view the wise man should sorrow and the fool rejoice at
passing out of life.
The earnestness of Cebes seemed to please Socrates. Here, said he,
turning to us, is a man who is always inquiring, and is not to be con-
vinced all in a moment, nor by every argument.
And in this case, added Simmias, his objection does appear to me to
have some force. For what can be the meaning of a truly wise man want-
ing to fly away and lightly leave a master who is better than himself?
And I rather imagine that Cebes is referring to you; he thinks that you
are too ready to leave us, and too ready to leave the gods who, as you ac-
knowledge, are our good rulers.
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Yes, replied Socrates; there is reason in that. And this indictment you
think that I ought to answer as if I were in court?
That is what we should like, said Simmias.
Then I must try to make a better impression upon you than I did when
defending myself before the judges. For I am quite ready to acknow-
ledge, Simmias and Cebes, that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were
not persuaded that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of
this I am as certain as I can be of anything of the sort) and to men depar-
ted (though I am not so certain of this), who are better than those whom I
leave behind; and therefore I do not grieve as I might have done, for I
have good hope that there is yet something remaining for the dead, and,
as has been said of old, some far better thing for the good than for the
evil.
But do you mean to take away your thoughts with you, Socrates? said
Simmias. Will you not communicate them to us?-the benefit is one in
which we too may hope to share. Moreover, if you succeed in convincing
us, that will be an answer to the charge against yourself.
I will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let me hear what
Crito wants; he was going to say something to me.
Only this, Socrates, replied Crito: the attendant who is to give you the
poison has been telling me that you are not to talk much, and he wants
me to let you know this; for that by talking heat is increased, and this in-
terferes with the action of the poison; those who excite themselves are
sometimes obliged to drink the poison two or three times.
Then, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared to give
the poison two or three times, if necessary; that is all.
I was almost certain that you would say that, replied Crito; but I was
obliged to satisfy him.
Never mind him, he said.
And now I will make answer to you, O my judges, and show that he
who has lived as a true philosopher has reason to be of good cheer when
he is about to die, and that after death he may hope to receive the
greatest good in the other world. And how this may be, Simmias and
Cebes, I will endeavor to explain. For I deem that the true disciple of
philosophy is likely to be misunderstood by other men; they do not per-
ceive that he is ever pursuing death and dying; and if this is true, why,
having had the desire of death all his life long, should he repine at the ar-
rival of that which he has been always pursuing and desiring?
Simmias laughed and said: Though not in a laughing humor, I swear
that I cannot help laughing when I think what the wicked world will say
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when they hear this. They will say that this is very true, and our people
at home will agree with them in saying that the life which philosophers
desire is truly death, and that they have found them out to be deserving
of the death which they desire.
And they are right, Simmias, in saying this, with the exception of the
words "They have found them out"; for they have not found out what is
the nature of this death which the true philosopher desires, or how he
deserves or desires death. But let us leave them and have a word with
ourselves: Do we believe that there is such a thing as death?
To be sure, replied Simmias.
And is this anything but the separation of soul and body? And being
dead is the attainment of this separation; when the soul exists in herself,
and is parted from the body and the body is parted from the soul-that is
death?
Exactly: that and nothing else, he replied.
And what do you say of another question, my friend, about which I
should like to have your opinion, and the answer to which will probably
throw light on our present inquiry: Do you think that the philosopher
ought to care about the pleasures-if they are to be called pleasures-of eat-
ing and drinking?
Certainly not, answered Simmias.
And what do you say of the pleasures of love-should he care about
them?
By no means.
And will he think much of the other ways of indulging the body-for
example, the acquisition of costly raiment, or sandals, or other adorn-
ments of the body? Instead of caring about them, does he not rather des-
pise anything more than nature needs? What do you say?
I should say the true philosopher would despise them.
Would you not say that he is entirely concerned with the soul and not
with the body? He would like, as far as he can, to be quit of the body and
turn to the soul.
That is true.
In matters of this sort philosophers, above all other men, may be ob-
served in every sort of way to dissever the soul from the body.
That is true.
Whereas, Simmias, the rest of the world are of opinion that a life
which has no bodily pleasures and no part in them is not worth having;
but that he who thinks nothing of bodily pleasures is almost as though
he were dead.
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[...]... confusion and uncertainty, not only into the previous argument, but into any future one; either we were not good judges, or there were no real grounds of belief Ech There I feel with you-indeed I do, Phaedo, and when you were speaking, I was beginning to ask myself the same question: What argument can I ever trust again? For what could be more convincing than the 34 argument of Socrates, which has... seated on a sort of stool, and he on a couch which was a good deal higher Now he had a way of playing with my hair, and then he smoothed my head, and pressed the hair upon my neck, and said: To-morrow, Phaedo, I suppose that these fair locks of yours will be severed Yes, Socrates, I suppose that they will, I replied Not so if you will take my advice What shall I do with them? I said To-day, he replied, . Phaedo Plato (Translator: Benjamin Jowett) Published: -400 Categorie(s): Non-Fiction, Philosophy Source: http://www.gutenberg.org 1 About Plato: Plato (Greek: Plátōn, "wide,. trio of ancient Greeks –Socrates, Plato, originally named Aristocles, and Aris- totle– who between them laid the philosophical foundations of Western culture. Plato was also a mathematician, writer. learning in the western world. Plato is widely believed to have been a student of Socrates and to have been deeply influenced by his teacher's unjust death. Plato& apos;s brilliance as a writer